


Angry Warlock

by Impala_Cherry_Trickster



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angry Merlin (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Canon Era, Court Sorcerer Merlin (Merlin), Destruction, Elemental Magic, First Kiss, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kidnapping, M/M, Powerful Merlin (Merlin), Protective Knights (Merlin), Violence, but its not real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Cherry_Trickster/pseuds/Impala_Cherry_Trickster
Summary: They had to get out of the cell, they had to break the cold iron that supressed Merlin's Magic. The plan was a dangerous one, and it worked almost too well
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 649
Collections: Numerous OTPS Infinite Fandoms





	Angry Warlock

‘I think I have an idea.’ Lancelot hated the words that came out of his mouth, because he knew how bad this was going to go. It had been six days since capture, six days of sitting in a cell and waiting for their captors to decide how to deal with the issue.

The issue was a simple one, the fact that they had been aiming on just capturing Emrys, not the King of Camelot with him. Arthur was more than disgruntled over the fact that they had no intention of hurting _him_ , per say, and Lancelot would have been amused if not for the fact that Merlin was in danger.

Ever since his appointment as Court Sorcerer, people had started to take notice of Merlin. The Knights tried to protect him as best as possible, usually from his own clumsiness more than anything else, but this was a situation none of them could have predicted. Lancelot looked out of their cell, over to the empty one that housed Merlin during the night, when they weren’t trying to…

Well, Merlin hadn't actually told them what their captors wanted. All he spoke of was the annoyance of the band around his neck, the one that cut off his Magic. The moment Arthur had seen it, Lancelot had known that their captors better keep them well chained, otherwise the King would rip them apart himself.

There was nobody closer to the King of Camelot than the Court Sorcerer. Not his sister, Morgana, or their friend Gwen. Not the Knights, not Gaius, and certainly none of the nobles. Merlin was the one that woke Arthur in the morning, who spent the day by his side and then ate with him at dinner. The two were conjoined at the hip, which only made the situation worse.

Arthur had started begging on the first day. Had Merlin not been at risk, Lancelot knew the King would still be silent. But the moment Merlin came back, with a bruised eye and his lip split, the King had exploded with rage.

‘Can’t be any worse than listening to the Princess grumble.’ Gwaine cheerfully announced, but Lancelot wasn’t fooled. The Knight may pretend that this was all fun and games, but he was awfully protective over Merlin, perhaps equal to Arthur. The difference was the kind of love; with Gwaine, it was that of brothers. With Arthur… nobody would openly state that Merlin and Arthur were romantically involved, wouldn’t even suggest it.

‘One more word from you…’ Arthur began, words growled out, but Lancelot cleared his throat to gain their attention.

The cell was relatively plain, a barred front with a window on the opposite wall. A basin in the corner of water, a pot that could be passed through the bars. Food consisted of mouldy bread and a stew that was probably rat. It wasn’t the worse conditions they had been in, but it was clearly taking a toll on them.

‘What’s your idea?’ Sir Leon put them back on track, the Knights shuffling closer.

‘You’re not going to like it.’ Lancelot muttered, feeling like he was betraying Merlin’s trust just thinking about it.

‘If it gets us out of here…’ Elyan began, before Arthur snapped.

‘They could be torturing him for all we know. Whatever it takes, do it.’ None of them were surprised by the outburst, and none of them disagreed. Lancelot prayed to whoever was listening for forgiveness, slowly put his plan into motion.

‘Gwaine, I need you to punch Leon. Elyan, do the same with Percival. Then swap, make it look like there’s been a fight. We’re also going to need some blood…’ Gwaine didn’t pause, brought the nail that he had been attempting to use to scrape away at the lock to his arm. The skin split, blood dripping down onto the dirt floor beneath them.

‘That was quick.’ Leon murmured, but Gwaine shrugged.

‘I trust Lance.’ He didn’t need to say the second part of the sentence, that he’d quite happily risk infection just to get Merlin safe.

‘Aim for the dirt, smear it towards the bars.’ They worked as a group, obeying without asking why exactly they were fighting each other. Lancelot worked on helping Gwaine spread the blood, before wrapping the cut.

‘What next?’ Leon asked, his lip dripping blood and his hair stuck to dirty cheeks.

‘Hit me.’ Lancelot beckoned, but it wasn’t Leon that got to hit him. Gwaine took the swing, Lancelot gasping at the sting. Tears watered behind his closed eyes, which he then blinked away quickly, straightening himself up.

‘What do I need to do?’ Arthur questioned, patiently waiting for instruction. At any other time, he would have been amused by the fact that it took Merlin being captured for the King to accept orders.

‘Hide. Behind the wall, out of sight from the other cell.’ A lot of confused faces snapped his way, but Lancelot ignored them. Arthur moved into the shadows, and Lancelot turned back to the others.

If this worked, Lancelot had no idea if it would be too much.

‘What now?’

‘Follow my lead. And look sad. Angry and sad.’

**

Merlin’s knees hit the dirt, a grunt slipping from his lips before he could stop it. The collar around his neck felt heaviest when his head was ducked, so he quickly rose it and smiled sarcastically towards the man that had just dropped him.

They were captured, and it had been Merlin’s fault, because he’d been distracted. His Magic had been caged before he could think to use it, to busy staring at Arthur and the way the King had reached for his sword on instinct.

The Warlock wasn’t majorly injured, just a couple of aches and pains from the would-be thieves trying to steal his Magic. He had tried to explain how stupid the very idea was, that his Magic was _part_ of him, and stealing it would be impossible. Not that they cared, too busy trying out different spells that bounced off of him harmlessly. Being Court Sorcerer had meant that Merlin could finally train in the open, although he still kept his Magic for simple spells when the Knights and King were around.

Speaking of, they had also been captured. Merlin rubbed the back of his neck, cursing when he hit the cold iron, looking out to his friends.

Only to find them looking… broken. Beaten and bloody, with a significant amount of blood across the floor. He couldn’t tell which one of them it had come from, none of them seemed to be injured enough, but Merlin’s heartrate still picked up at the sight.

Lancelot was the only one who looked up, and the moment he did, Merlin knew something had happened.

‘Lance, what… where’s Arthur?’ The Knight kept the stare, before his expression crumpled. Guilt, pain, anger and sorrow, mixed into a mess that he couldn’t hope to pick apart.

‘Lancelot. Where’s _Arthur_.’ This time, it wasn’t a question. Nothing could have happened, Merlin would _know_ if something happened!

‘We… Merlin, I couldn’t… I’m sorry.’ The last words were uttered as a whisper, as nothing more than a heartfelt admittance.

Merlin could have sworn in that moment that time stopped. He could hear the very moment that his heart stopped beating, that his lungs gasped for air and caught it like it was the only thing he had left to hold on to. Every part of his body went numb, a coldness that swept over quicker than he could ever hope, while the Warlock tried to understand what Lancelot had just said.

‘I… what?’ He croaked, unaware of when his voice no longer sounded like his own.

Lancelot’s head ducked away, his hair hiding his expression, but the words carried.

‘He’s dead.’

Merlin had predicted hearing those words countless times. He’d seen Arthur jump into perilous situations, had watched him receive wounds that should kill most men. Poison, magical beasts, dragons, drowning… There were so many ways, and Merlin had beaten most of them. He’d cheated Destiny, trained Morgana under his wing to help Albion flourish, and this was what had happened.

He’d become complacent. He’d forgotten just how dangerous man could be, as a species. He overlooked their crimes because it was a pitiful attempt at capture, viewed it as something to be snarky towards.

They’d killed Arthur.

The same people he’d been joking with all day, laughing at and goading, expecting them to punish him. But they’d taken Arthur instead, and now the blood on the floor was making his stomach twist into knots, because one thing was very clear.

He had not cheated Destiny. All he’d done was prolong the inevitable, and Arthur was dead.

Arthur was dead, and Merlin should have been there to stop it. He needed to exhale, needed to breathe, but he couldn’t convince himself to do so when he kept replaying the events of the last few days in his head. He could still see Arthur rolling his eyes when Merlin assured him these people weren’t dangerous, when Merlin promised it would be fine.

He’d lied, things weren’t fine.

When he finally convinced his lungs to release the air, it was in the form of a scream. His hands came up to his head and he screamed, screamed until he felt the world beneath him tremble in terror.

Arthur was dead, and Merlin would burn the world down for lying to him. For letting him believe that he was worth happiness, that he deserved to sit at Arthur’s table and enjoy his company.

His head tipped back, hands dropping to the dirt as he drew on the connection that tethered him to the ground. It moved like liquid fire, filling his veins and burning away the cold that had settled, lighting his anger and cracking the band that had tried to cage him.

Cold Iron splintered to the ground, but Merlin couldn’t care less about it. Fingers dug into the dirt, tearing open the floor as vines began to creep out, determined to serve.

A strange buzzing had taken over his hearing, a thrumming sound that amplified as the cell around him began to shake. He pushed harder, further, needing more.

He wanted to bring the world down.

Stone began to fall, to collapse inward, but that meant a risk to the Knights of Camelot. As angry as Merlin was, as much as he wanted to burn up, he knew that they didn’t deserve his wrath.

So, when the blast came, it was outwards.

The walls crumbled like dirt, shattering outwards as the ceiling was thrown outwards. They’d been caged underground, with a stone-church on-top of them. Not that it made Merlin pause for more than a moment, because he could deal with that as well.

The world remained dark, even when he’d broken through into the open, and Merlin’s eyes focused on the fact that the sky was black. Thick clouds circled overhead, the rumbling of thunder taking over the sound of his heartbeat as he pushed more Magic into the earth. There were screams, he could hear them despite the noise, despite the wind rushing past his air and the stones being thrown into the abyss.

The Old Religion wanted balance, for the power he was taking. He’d give it, in the form of blood, in the form of ripping apart the people that had stolen Arthur from him.

Somewhere along the line of destruction, Merlin had moved out of his cell, out into the rubble of the church. He wasn’t sure how, nor questioned it, content to let the apocalypse continue.

He’d almost forgotten about the Knights of Camelot, until he caught a flash of metal shining in the fire that began to roll over the wreckage. The Warlock glanced to the side briefly, wondering why they would be so foolish as to attempt to come towards him, only to halt.

When he’d first met Arthur, he’d thought him rather prattish. An idiot, admittedly a good-looking one, but that hadn't registered. The thing Merlin had got stuck on was the eyes, the baby blue that was strangely so deep, the same eyes he’d eventually fallen in love with.

Through swirling dust and debris, breaking through the chaos that Merlin’s Magic had rained down, those same eyes stared at him. Unlike the first time, there was no annoyance or amusement or anger. Just worry, devotion and something that Merlin couldn’t quite name, something that had the heat in his veins spiking.

Arthur Pendragon took another step closer, uncaring of the danger it posed to him. Had the situation been different, Merlin might have laughed at his stubbornness. Now, he just found his body going cold again, his Magic halting mid-action.

When time stopped for the second time, it captured just how much Merlin’s control had slipped. The trees were blown outward, an epicentre of damage that surrounded him. No buildings survived, nothing more than rubble under his feet. There wasn’t even enough evidence to prove that there had been men in it, he didn’t want to think about what his Magic had done to them.

Arthur glanced to the side, to where the rubble hung in the air, suspended as Merlin tried to understand what he was seeing.

‘Think you can draw it back in?’ Arthur’s words were jovial, teasing, but there was no mistaking the concern that laced his tone. Merlin shuddered, clenching his fists and trying to convince himself this was real.

He did as told, just like usual, just lacking the sarcasm. Sunlight filtered through the clouds just as the material dropped, the dust settling and revealing the Knights of Camelot behind Arthur. Merlin didn’t bother to stare at them, instead stumbled towards Arthur.

Arthur, who didn’t stop Merlin from reaching for his neck, fingers seeking out the steady flutter of a pulse. Elevated, but completely alive, and Merlin gripped the King’s tunic between his fingers.

‘You… I…’ When words failed him, Merlin opted for hugging him. He didn’t care if the King didn’t return it, if Arthur wanted to question how he just destroyed a building, because he just needed to know he was alive. Breathing, gripping him just as tightly, before hands grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back slightly.

‘Merlin.’ His name had been said by Arthur so many times, in so many different ways, but none more beautiful than this. None with the same emotion, while Merlin’s fingers traced the edge of the King’s jawline, tracking through the dust.

‘You’re alive.’ Merlin finally managed to get out, watching as Arthur’s lips quirked up at the corner.

‘No thanks to the mess you’ve made.’ He could have cried in relief, or maybe laughed, but he never got the chance.

Because he was being tugged in once again, only this time, it was to the warmth of lips against his. It was nothing more than a solid press of lips, chapped and dirty with a metallic hint of blood, and when Arthur pulled back, it was just enough to rest their foreheads together.

‘I’ll clean it up.’ Merlin offered, felt the warmth of Arthur’s breath against his face as the King laughed.

‘Later.’ The second kiss was longer, lingering, and Merlin finally felt the last bit of cold wash from his body.

Arthur was very much alive, and Merlin planned on treasuring that.

**Author's Note:**

> Angry Merlin = A Hot Merlin


End file.
